


That One Time

by Perro (Gadhar)



Series: Ollie/Dinah Drabble Prompts [8]
Category: Green Arrow (Comics)
Genre: AU, F/M, Mentions of alcohol, Mentions of drugs, Oliver is technically a criminal, breaking and entering is bad don't do it, could be alcohol abuse, don't bleed on people's rugs, mentions of assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Perro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off a prompt that went something like Person A keeps breaking into Person B's apartment intoxicated and comes to enjoy it so much that they start pretending to be intoxicated just to hang around with Person B. </p><p>Oliver is/isn't drunk.It's Dinah's apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Time

**Author's Note:**

> AU. Obviously. Not really based on any particular universe or any certain facts. I just wrote what came to mind.  
> I wasn't going to post this (I'm supposed to be packing right now, to move) because I haven't really, seriously, edited it. But, I figure, for now, go spellcheck.

The first few times he can prove were mistakes. It wasn't like he was trying to break into her apartment. It was just that, he needed his apartment and her door and windows look exactly like his and quite frankly it's impressive that he even manage to make it up two stories while drunk and/or drugged.

For Oliver Queen, this is usual. The drinking and drugging part, not the wrong apartment thing.

The first time had been drinking. Killing time with drinking time. Wasting away one shot at a time and somehow a pity party seemed more attractive by the second. He lost the company, his friend turned out to be a hired hitman and he lost all his assets to the man who hired said hired killer.

Oliver couldn't even remember going home. Though, really, the bar he frequents is only a block away from his apartment complex so it's feasible he made it there himself. But he didn't remember any of it. Not until he woke up to a shotgun in his face and a curvy blonde a hair away from blowing his brains out.

The second time was so not his fault. The undercover vigilante thing had turned serious and he was pissing off people in all the wrong (right) places and someone drugged him. It was slipped into his drink and he still can't believe how tasteless such drugs were. Oliver could remember flashes of the night, multiple fists, a lot of bruises and a knife, somewhere in between. The window had been on the same side as his, it had looked the same too and the tree was _right there._ That time he woke under a blanket with the same curvy blonde glaring at him. _Pissed but considerate,_ he had thought, _what a sexy combination._

The times after that pretty much followed the same formula, either pity party gone wrong, pissed off enemies, or some strange sex game he got tied up in because he said yes to a foreign man who was saying things he didn’t understand. One of those times was an undercover mission though, so, not entirely his fault.

Each time he woke up with an added bonus. The blanket turned to a blanket and pillow, the blanket and pillow turned to a blanket, pillow, and an aspirin, those got water added to it and eventually he started waking up on the couch. It was like a collect 'em all thing or something.

It wasn't every night or even every week but he never ever saw that curvy blonde except for those few moments in the morning when he was in a hangover-induced haze and there might have been some less-than-witty banter and some hangover cures and a helping hand around his staggering ass as they made their way back to his place. He never learned her name either. Never made a point to even though she lived two doors down from him.

He lived his life and she lived hers.

It became a weird kind of ritual that never stopped, even after he started stumbling in _pretending_ to be under the influence. He had feeling she knew but she never said anything. He kept coming, even during the entire week she was gone, off in Paris or something. She had left him a note, _I'll be back eventually, don't puke on my floor,_ and maybe she expected him to see it and stop coming but he couldn't. He couldn't just stop. He kept coming but he never slept there, it didn't feel right. He either stayed up the whole night or leaned against the outside of her door in the hall, dozing.

The night she came back was the night he was out there and he woke up the next morning in her apartment, in the guestroom, on an actual _bed._ They still never talked about it, didn't even acknowledge it. Not until that night.

 _That night._ It was the best-worst night of his life and he wouldn't-would trade anything for it. The vigilante thing, it went bad. Oliver had gotten careless and it wasn't. It wasn't something he thought about, it was _instinct._

He woke up in her bed that time, body aching as his chest burned. She had leaned over him and kissed his forehead, changed the bandages around his chest and had kissed his lips. She said her name was Dinah Lance, and that he was Oliver Queen and that he was going to have to buy her a new rug because he stained the one underneath the window with blood.

He could remember laughing so much it hurt, clutching his chest and trying not to scream. He could remember the feel of her lips on his as she ran her fingers through his hair until he slept. He could remember waking up and suddenly he lived there and nothing was really different and he realized that this was the love of his life, living his dream life and he had never even known he had one until that morning.


End file.
